The Ineffable (Or What If)
by Satoshistar7
Summary: What if Crowley decided to take matters into his own hands to save Aziraphale (despite his protests) from Armageddon's war between Heaven and Hell? Starts right at the Alpha Centari scene.
1. Chapter 1

The Ineffable or What If

What if Crowley decided to take matters into his own hands to save Aziraphale (despite his protests) from Armageddon's war between heaven and hell? Takes place during the Alpha Centari scene.

**Good omens does not belong to me. It belongs to the amazing Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett in the past, present and always forever. Italics are original script or thoughts of the characters. Enjoy.**

A plump middle-aged white-haired man with fair skin and sky-blue eyes strolled anxiously down Soho London's crowded sidewalk, wringing his hands rather frantically. He was impeccably dressed in an vintage Victorian-era beige suit and a warm velvet brown vest complete with tartan collar. While he looked like he was one of crowd pushing to get home before the oncoming rainstorm broke out, in actuality he was trying to return to his book shop to determine once and for all if Heaven would really be so cruel as to allow Armageddon to occur. As it stood, the end of the world was scheduled to happen today.

This harried gentleman was an Angel.

To humans on outside he was known as Mr. Fell, the eccentric shop owner of A.Z. Fells books and purveyor of first editions which he would never relinquish for love or money. In reality, he is Aziraphale, the Principality and guardian Angel of Eden's eastern gate. He was attempting to save humanity from Armageddon, but after being punched in the gut by other, more war hungry angels roughly five minutes ago by saying just that, his morale was rather dismal at the moment. And from his furrowed brow and anguished expression, the world's fate was almost quite literally on his shoulders. However, it should be argued that he was not alone in bearing this burden.

A sleek luxurious silver and black Bentley braked hard over a curb just feet away from A.Z. Fell's bookshop. Aziraphale stopped, staring in shock as a familiar ginger-haired man with stylish black sunglasses leaped out of the driver's side of the car so fast, he nearly banged the front door into an oncoming pedestrian. This man went by the name Anthony J Crowley. He unlike Aziraphale, was dressed in a modern stylish black suit with a black undershirt and a loose hanging silver tie which matched far better in our current fashion era.

However, he was no more human than Aziraphale, but he was no angel.

No, he was a demon. A fallen angel, the original tempter of sin, and the infamous serpent from the very same garden of Eden. Despite Aziraphale and Crowley's backgrounds as being hereditary enemies, they've been friends for 6,000 years and had grown rather fond of the quirks and imperfections of earth, humanity, and of course each other (though neither were inclined to admit it out loud just yet).

"Crowley! What are you-"

"_Angel! I'm sorry!" Crowley said urgently. "I apologize. Whatever I said I didn't mean it! __Work with me, I'm apologizing here! Yes? Good. Get in the car." He beckoned with one hand and shoved open the back-seat passenger door with the other._

"_What?" Aziraphale exclaimed. "No!"_

"_The forces of hell have figured out it's my fault. But we can run away together! Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there. Nobody would even notice us!" He rambled frantically on._

"_Crowley you're being ridiculous! Look I-I-I'm quite sure if I could just-just reach the right people, then I can get this all sorted out." _

"_There aren't any right people! __There's just God moving in mysterious ways and not talking to any of us!" Crowley's voice rose in frustration. _

"_Well, yes, and that is why I'm going to have a word with the Almighty, and then the Almighty will fix it." __Even Aziraphale heard the tremor of fearful uncertainty in his voice. He tried to hide a wince as his gut throbbed once more. _

"_That's won't happen! You're so clever! How can somebody as clever as you be so stupid!" __Crowley shouted angrily, desperate to get through that thick angel skull of blind righteousness and faithful piety for once._

_"I forgive you," Aziraphale said simply. His heart however clenched at the hurtful words thrown at him by his dearest companion. _

_Crowley looked at him for a moment with such a stricken expression that Aziraphale almost reached out to grip his shoulder reassuringly. He wanted to say how much Crowley had meant to him throughout all the ages they had spent together._ _He wanted to tell him that he had found the true Anti-Christ and his location so that they could drive off together to stop the destruction of the world they loved so much. But the fear of vengeance from hell upon Crowley due to his unwillingness to cut ties with an angel, his own desperation to reach the Lord to confirm his wavering belief that Heaven would not allow the senseless destruction of humanity, and the simple fact that they would always be on opposite sides stopped Aziraphale short._

"_Oh. Fine!" Crowley snarled angrily. "I'm going home angel! I'm getting my stuff and leaving! And when I'm up out among the stars I won't even think of you!" He gestured his hand wildly up towards the sky. _

Crowley made as if to move towards the Bentley but stopped for a moment to look back. Unforgivable he had claimed himself as just a few hours ago, yet Aziraphale had freely given it to him and him alone. He couldn't do this...

With a soft sigh Aziraphale looked at his best friend (and so much more) one…last...time.

"Good-bye Crowley," he said with a soft kind tone, that the demon knew he didn't deserve. Turning swiftly around to face the bookshop's door he fumbled for keys, trying to hide his tears. This hurt far worse than being struck by any angel. He did not notice that time had stopped all around them. The crowd went silent and still, the rain which began to fall froze in mid-air.

"Be safe and well my dear…" he tried to say, before a black silk handkerchief was shoved over his mouth and nose. Gasping, he accidentally inhaled the fumes of a scent that only his kind could smell. A numbness spread, swiftly paralyzing his limbs and spirit within the body he was given by heaven. It smelled like the salt of tears, burned ashes, and old blood.

Gentle hands caught him, as he fell backwards from the stoop of his bookstore.

"I'm so sorry Aziraphale, but you've left me no choice," Crowley murmured in his ear. He grabbed the fallen keys to his bookshop, before scooping up the paralyzed angel with the ease of supernatural strength, into his arms. Aziraphale's head rested helplessly against the demon's chest. He desperately tried to keep his eyes open, but the warmth of Crowley's heartbeat made it very difficult to do so.

_Flowers of the *Judas Tree! How could you Crowley?! _Aziraphale silently shouted in his head, willing Crowley to understand him. As if sensing Aziraphale's thoughts, he flinched slightly before he unlocked the bookshop and stepped inside. The demon's heart ached at the thought that he may have lost Aziraphale's forgiveness forever with his actions, but he could not bring himself to leave Aziraphale behind. He strolled through the shop till he found the old, but comfortable couch near the back. Carefully, Crowley set Aziraphale upon it, propping his head on the cushions. Snapping his fingers time started back once more outside.

"I'm going to pick out a few of your favorite books and things to pack Angel. You're the only friend I have anywhere on earth, heaven or hell. I'm not going to lose you," Crowley said firmly, staring deep into Aziraphale's hurt and betrayed gaze. He softly swiped the tears from the corner of his friend's eyes. As he reached over, his arm brushed his tender stomach, causing an involuntary hiss of pain to escape the Angel's numb lips. Crowley's eyes narrowed behind his shades and he gently laid his palm over his gut, feeling left-over celestial energy on the hidden bruise. Shaking his head at heaven's utter hypocrisy of assaulting the one angel who was trying to do the right thing, he blew air over him, healing the injury. Crowley returned his gaze to Aziraphale's.

"And I know you don't want to lose me too."

Aziraphale blushed faintly in embarrassment at Crowley's effortless ability of being able to see right through him, but he couldn't look way. He silently cursed and cried out his objections as Crowley swiftly summoned his plaid red suitcase and levitated his favorite novels into it. The next to go was his teapot, the tea leaves, the wine, and his angel wings snuffbox.

_Please don't do this. Not now... Not when I know who and where the Anti-Christ is. If only I can get him to look at Agnus Nutter's book of prophecies..._

Turning around, Crowley discovered the white chalk summoning circle that Aziraphale had prepared earlier this morning. He whistled in admiration and noticed that it had not been used yet. He knelt to take a closer look.

" ...you really were prepared to take this to the top weren't you?" Crowley remarked softly, staring at Aziraphale with new found respect.

_Please Crowley. Let me contact God. Let me try to fix this..._

"We don't have much time Angel...Judas flowers won't fully wear off for at least an hour and Hell's forces are after me..."

His best friend gazed up at him with the most pleading and saddest eyes that gave even puppies and kittens a run for their money. Crowley swore in vividly under his breath and threw his hands in the air once more.

"Alright, Angel have it your way! You won't be able to speak to them like this, so let's do a little costume change yes? After I prove I'm right I'm taking you with me whether you like it or not."

Aziraphale was puzzled until Crowley sat down beside him, took his right hand and closed his eyes. Aziraphale felt his a warm trickling in his body as he began to shift and change, bone popping and his limbs lengthening. Crowley's features began to blur.

Suddenly, the changes stopped and both reverted back to their original forms. Crowley opened his eyes and looked down at his frightened friend, feeling a sharp stab of guilt in his gut. Aziraphale had never been afraid of him before.

"Angel, I need you to trust me. Otherwise this will never work," he said.

_Well, you did paralyze me you foul fiend..._

Crowley winced at his accusing glare. "Yeah…I really can't blame you for thinking that way. But, I'm trying to do you a favor here and we're running out of time. Please let me do this for you."

Aziraphale's furrowed brow finally relaxed in agreement with his words and he took a shallow breath. Crowley was right. Thinking about it now, despite Crowley's actions, Aziraphale knew that he was truly terrified of hell's demonic forces. The fact that he was willing to risk what little time he had to flee to contact God (the very being who casted him out of heaven and drove him mad with frustration with her ineffable plan) on his behalf evaporated all his foolish fears. Instead he felt ashamed and desperately wished that he had told Crowley truth when he had the chance. But, now he couldn't even speak.

Taking this as a sign to continue Crowley grasped his hand once more and it took only a few seconds before Aziraphale was staring up at himself. Crowley looked down at his now sprawled corporation on the couch, complete with his dark shades and lazy expression. He snapped his fingers to move the couch and Aziraphale around the corner of a tall bookshelf, hiding them both out of view of the celestial circle.

"Right," Crowley in Aziraphale's prim and warm tones. He quickly set and lit the candles around the sacred circle. Clasping his hands together he hesitated for a moment, before closing his eyes and bowed his head in prayer.

"Helloooo? Anyone up there? This is incredibly important, and I need to talk to the highest power." A soft and pure beam of white light spilled down through the dusty skylight, connecting the earth from the heavens upon the holy symbols glowing on the old wooden floor. "I know it's been awhile, but I wouldn't be doing this unless there was no other way."

A floating head of a wrinkled man, with ethereal wisps of hair barely covering his baldness appeared in the light. Crowley wrinkled Aziraphale's nose at the sight for a second, before composing himself with an earnest and falsely respectful expression

"Speak Aziraphale," the ghostly head uttered calmly, with a voice that echoed in the ears and mind.

"Is this God, I'm speaking to on this line?" Crowley asked carefully.

"This is the Metatron."

"Look I need to talk to the actual Almighty..."

"You may speak to me as you would speak to God."

"But you're not actually God and I have a question for…" here Crowley paused for a moment and swallowed as if he had bitten in a particularly sour apple before continuing on.

"Our heavenly lord."

"Ask your question. I will answer it. To speak with me is to speak with God." Metatron said firmly. Crowley sucked in a frustrated breath before speaking.

"All right then. What if I've found the Anti-Christ?" The drug, which paralyzed Aziraphale, had finally began to wear off a bit and allowed the disguised angel to stiffen in alarm. How on earth did Crowley know what he knew? He had to be bluffing. Meanwhile Crowley began to feel incredibly edgy, as he could sense the ominous aura of Hastur and Ligur lurking in his flat just a few blocks away. They were searching for him and while the bookshop had natural wards to keep hellish forces (besides Crowley of course) out, Crowley knew that if they didn't get a move on they would be trapped. Hopefully the trap he set with holy water would be enough to deter his pursuers, if not slow them down. A flare of demonic energy vanished from existence, causing Crowley to relax a little before going on.

"His name and where he is at? We don't have to fight this war. If we just stop the Anti-Christ, we can save everybody!" he pleaded with an earnest look. For a moment Aziraphale and Crowley held on to hope. Hope that heaven would be on their side in preventing Armageddon and sparing all of humanity. The hope that maybe Heaven truly did care for their wayward children and would not make the sacrifice of the Lord's son, Jesus, who died for humanity's sins, in vain. The next words the Metatron said erased the unbearable certainty with the truth. A truth which brutally crucified their fragile hope and left it bleeding out with nothing to staunch the wound.

"The point of Armageddon is not to prevent the war." Metatron said sternly. "It is for us to actually win it against the forces hell. Once and for all. It has been written."

Crowley's lips pressed into thin and angry line, barely holding back a serpentine hiss of utter rage. Despite the fact that he had been proven right he took no joy from it at all. The small twitches of the prostrate figure sobbing silently on the couch made him truly feel demonic for the first time in a long while and he found that he did not care for it one bit.

Suddenly, Crowley's gaze fell upon a battered green book, opened on a certain page and for a single second his heart stopped. Tadsfield. He glanced towards his trembling self who gave a single slow nod in his direction. Tear tracks slipped from behind black shades in a silent plea, and at that moment Crowley made his choice. It was dangerous gamble and went against all his instincts of self-preservation, but now... they finally had a chance. Through gritted teeth he forced himself to ask.

"So how would it be brought forth exactly?"

"We thought a nuclear exchange would be a good start. You must join our ranks to prepare for war. Do not dawdle." Metatron said in the strict tone of a school-teacher reprimanding a student's tardiness. Crowley nodded absently, his mind already focused on the future ahead.

"Yes, yes, alright. I just need to wrap up a few things here."

"We will leave this portal open for you. Go forth Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate!"

The floating head of Metatron vanished, but the light remained. For a long and terrible moment there was a heavy and suffocating silence. Aziraphale waited for the metaphorical ax to fall. He expected nothing less from Crowley, especially with the revelations that had been exposed upon his person. Crowley took one long deep breath, staring at the holy light before him and then turned around. He silently walked over to the paralyzed angel and stared down at him with an unreadable look.

"You know where the antichrist is." It was not a question.

Aziraphale closed his eyes both in confirmation and resignation, as he nodded once more. There was no point in hiding it now. His faith in heaven was broken and only Crowley stood with him to save the earth and humanity from destruction. And it was quite possible that he had lost Crowley's friendship for good with his actions.

_God...Why? Does your Great Plan really lead to the start of another war? Must humanity and the world die for our foolish battle?_ Aziraphale thought feverishly, still coming to terms that he was the only angel of Heaven who actually cared about stopping Armageddon_._

"Right then," Crowley said briskly, rubbing his palms together. "Let's get out here and fix all this. Switch back?" Aziraphale stared at him, shocked at his nonplussed attitude, but an ominous risen brow told the angel that he was not quite off the hook yet and that if they made it through Armageddon, then they would be having words. Aziraphale couldn't help but feel the same way, considering what Crowley had done. He reached down to grab Aziraphale's hand...

"YOU DEMON! SEDUCING WOMEN AND SOUTHERN PANSIES TO DO YOUR DIRTY WORK?"

Crowley jumped and spun around to find a purpling Sergeant Shadwell, stabbing an accusing finger towards his chest.

"I'm not a demon. I'm Mr. Fell!" he protested in his most injured Aziraphalian tone. But Shadwell was not fooled. "Besides this isn't that kind of shop. If you just go two doors down…"

"I did see what you did to my poor sponsor! Your filthy beast!" Shadwell ranted as he pressed forward causing Crowley to step back, dangerously close to the holy circle.

_No Crowley don't step into the circle! You'll be discorperated! _Aziraphale tried to say, but all that came out was a muffled "No..." from numb lips. Luckily, Crowley understood his moan and gracefully danced backwards to the left, towards the couch.

"This day can't possibly get any worse," Crowley moaned.

"Crooowwwlleeyy, Oh Croooowwllleyy?" Hastur crooned insidiously from the doorway. Crowley groaned again. Worst. Timing. Ever. The wards had failed due to Aziraphale being incapacitated and unable to sustain them. Shadwell had immediately ducked behind a bookshelf, glaring warningly at Crowley.

"Well fuck..." he swore, and Aziraphale glared at the blasphemy that Crowley let escape from his cooperation's mouth. However, considering the occasion, one could hardly blame him for doing so.

"You're hiding that bastard Crowley!" Hastur sneered, stalking towards who he believed was the hapless angel, that Crowley dared to fraternize with. "He murdered Ligur with Holy Water!" Aziraphale felt a surge of both relief and satisfaction at hearing his words. Hastur's beady slimy black eyes fell on him and gone were Aziraphale's happy thoughts. He couldn't help, but mentally echo the same sentiment as Crowley did just moments ago. Crowley placed himself between him and the murderous duke of hell.

"Hell will not forgive you Crowley! Give him to us!" Hastur growled menacingly, shoving the real Crowley violently out of the way, his grubby hand reached out to seize him. So, focused on wrecking vengeance on the treacherous serpent, Hastur failed to take in the presence of the first intruder.

Sergeant Shadwell roared "Another one of ye demon spawn!" and sprung out from his hiding spot with a crazed look in his eyes, brandishing his lit lighter. Hastur yelped, as he was yanked forward by the mental human. Getting caught wrong-footed and thrown off balance, Hastur, Duke of Hell, capable of devouring a whole room of people in a flood of maggots within five seconds, was reduced to tussling with Witchfinder Sergeant Shadwell. Their struggle was remarkably similar to that of a couple of five-year-olds squaring off on who would be the supreme ruler of the playground, but with one of aforementioned toddlers sneaking behind the opposition and placing them in an unbreakable headlock. The lighter flew out his hand and nearly caught fire on a wayward Sound of Music pamphlet only to be smothered out by Crowley stamping repeatedly on it.

"What are you doing bloody bastard! Get your hands off me!" Hastur garbled, flailing against Shadwell's hold, but pure fear and the adrenaline of having an actual spawn of the devil in his grasp kept Shadwell holding on as they spun around the bookshop in a mad whirling dervish of chaos. Crowley pressed back against the couch, covering Aziraphale as much as possible from the struggling pair. Aziraphale groaned discontentedly as Shadwell was slammed into one of his bookshelves, knocking priceless first editions rudely to the floor.

"Bell, book, and candle I will exorcise you all!" Shadwell howled dementedly as Hastur finally slipped free, stumbling backwards towards...

"Stay out of the circle you idiot human!" Crowley hissed frantically, trying to snatch his arm. Idiot or not Shadwell was the head of the witch finder army making him a valuable resource and he knew that Aziraphale himself would try to stop him. But Sergeant Shadwell passed the point of no return. He dodged Crowley's grasp, lunged forward to tackled Hastur...

Holy light flared over both and they screamed simultaneously, one in shock and the other in mortal agony. Levitating in the air, Hastur's corporation crumbled into black searing ashes while Sergeant Shadwell disappeared with a blinding white flash. For a moment Crowley sat wide-eyed in disbelief, hardly daring to believe their luck, but feeling a pang of regret at the same time. A moan from Aziraphale snapped him out of his stupor and he acted quickly.

Crowley picked up Aziraphale once more and with the book of prophecy tucked under his arm he ran through the bookshop and kicked out the front door. Crowley knocked as many pedestrians out of the way as possible till he reached his car. The Bentley's passenger door automatically sprang open and Crowley deposited him in the front passenger seat up right and miracled up a seatbelt to strap him in. He carefully tucked _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch _into Aziraphale's arms and threw himself into the driver seat. Turning the key and with a squeal of burning rubber the Bentley roared out of its parking space, barreling towards Tadsfield. Turning towards him with a reckless grin, he clasped his shoulder with a reassuring grip. They reverted to their original corporations seconds later, but the warmth of his grip remained on Aziraphale's shoulder. _  
_Aziraphale took a deep breath and found that he could move his numbed limbs sluggishly, but most important of all he could speak.

"It's Adam," he rasped.

"Wot?" Crowley asked, his eyes on the road.

"Adam Young. He's the Anti-Christ. Armageddon happening at Tadsfield Airbase. Please...hurry," he begged hoarsely, his voice thick with remorse. Crowley turned to stare at him for a moment, his golden snake eyes widened to a point where no whites were visible before he whooped loudly and floored it, Queens blasting joyfully through his Bentley's speakers. It was not only because he finally had the information he had been desperately searching for, but that his angel despite everything that happened, had clearly chosen to side with him by sharing it.

"Aziraphale thank you so much you brilliant, beautiful, angelic bastard you," he crowed. He quickly pecked him on the cheek, which caused the angel to go several shades red out of shock and awe. Crowley, with his corporation high on adrenaline kept going, without looking at his now starry-eyed passenger, but carefully tucked he tucked the angel's reaction into his mind to examine later. He and Aziraphale would have to deal with the aftermath of their actions towards each other, but right now they had everything they needed. Aziraphale couldn't help that a relieved smile spread across his face as he heard Crowley's cheerful declaration.

"Let's go save the world together!"

***The Judas tree is the red bud tree and it does have the story that the disciple, Judas, hung himself from the berry tree when he betrayed Jesus Christ. There is no smell that we as humans can sense, but I figured it would be fitting that angels could smell the true scent of such a tragic flower.**

**I hope you all enjoyed reading this. I might write an epilogue after this one shot. I think Crowley and Aziraphale need to have that talk after averting Armageddon, how they stopped it, and the fate of our dear Sergeant Shadwell. Please favorite or view my story. It means a lot to all fan fiction authors. Especially me.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: The Ineffably and Ridiculously Long Epilogue**

**I do not own Good Omens nor its characters. That treasure of a story and show belongs to dear Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. Sorry for the wait. Enjoy! _Italics are show script lines & thoughts._**

"I didn't know the heavens were overrun run with southern pansies!" A pale and babbling Sergeant Shadwell was being gently led by the wrist through the streets of Soho, London by a tired and somewhat ruffled Aziraphale.

"We're not all Southern pansies you know?" Aziraphale said rather mildly, but with a hint of sardonic humor. His blue eyes glinted with untold mischief, which was rather abnormal for the usually bookish angel.

"Tell that to the maker ye angelic menace. If that's what you really are? What did them winged folk said ye weren't one of them anymore?" Shadwell questioned invasively.

"Right then here we are! Aziraphale said abruptly. "I've called ahead to have your lady friend, Madame Tracy, to take care of you and she has been informed of your situation. You were in a terribly inebriated state when you came by my shop, bemoaning the unrequited love that you have been hiding from her all this time."

"Wait wot?!" Shadwell yelped, as the Great Southern Pansy quickly rang the doorbell of his residence with one hand, while keeping a firm grip on his shoulder with the other. Madame Tracy appeared in the doorway, dressed in a rather nice and conservative-fitting periwinkle blue blouse and neat skirt. Her once wavy red tresses of hair were a soft straight blonde that now gently fell at her slender shoulders. A warm and glowing smile from her left Shadwell struck dumb with awe as he beheld a woman who knew that she was loved and who loved the same person in return.

"I leave him in your capable hands, Madame Tracy. Give him some proper attention, will you? I'm willing to pay..." Madame Tracy held up a hand, looking very affronted indeed.

"The cheek of you! No Mr. Fell. This one will be on the house for always and as of this moment I will be retiring from my role as the Whore of Babylon. Good to you Mr. Fell and thank you for bringing him home."

She winked cheerfully at Aziraphale as she towed a now thoroughly stunned, and newly retired witch-finder into her former den of inequity. He smirked and closed the door on the sputtering and blushing Shadwell's face, before_ sauntering vaguely onwards to a clandestine meeting in St. James Park. _

"_Anyone watching?" Crowley asked tentatively. Aziraphale closed his eyes and lightly pressed his fingers to his temples for a minute. Eventually he opened his eyes and looked at the oddly stiff-sitting serpent beside him._

"_Nobody," he said assuredly. "Swap back?" Aziraphale held out his hand and Crowley clasped his without hesitation. A familiar warmth trickled through them both, from their linked fingers to the tips of their toes. Within a few heartbeats, angel and demon took back their original bodies from each other. _

"_Tartan collar? Really?" Crowley complained running a finger over his own._

"_Tartan's stylish!" Aziraphale said primly. Crowley rolled his eyes with an exasperated smirk of fondness._

"_I asked them for a rubber duck," he grinned with none of his angelic grace. "And asked the archangel Michael to miracle me a towel." He trailed off with a burst of giggles blending harmoniously with Crowley's rough bark of laughter. _

"_They'll leave us alone. For a bit," Crowley said absently, as a not so very nice thought occurred to him. "If you ask me, both sides are going to use this as breathing space before the big one."_

"_I thought that was the big one!" Aziraphale protested. _

"_No. For my money, the really big one is all of us against all of them."_

"_What? Heaven and hell against...humanity?" Aziraphale stared into the distance, his brow furrowed at the thought, but no longer denying where he stood. _

"_Right. Time to leave the garden," Crowley said thoughtfully, glancing sideways at a now solemn angel. _They knew they still had to discuss what happened before the-armeggedon-that-never was, but Crowley decided to keep the light and celebratory mood flowing for awhile yet. Brushing his fingers lightly over Aziraphale's shoulders he leaned forward with a serious look on his face. Aziraphale's breath caught his throat at their proximity and the intensity of his expression.

"_Let me," Crowley said gravely "tempt you..." Aziraphale swallowed hard as he whispered in his ear. "To a spot of lunch," he finished in a lighter and much more amused tone. He grinned inwardly at the slightly flustered angel, who couldn't help but scowl playfully at the demon's antics. He chuckled, clapped his hands on his knees, and jerked his head before declaring "Temptation accomplished."_

As the odd pair strolled out of St. James park, Aziraphale suddenly rung his hands and became rather pale. "Oh dear Crowley, I completely forgot about Sergeant Shadwell! I don't know if he is even alive considering he was forcibly ejected into heaven! I do hope-"

"He's fine Aziraphale," Crowley interrupted him.

"Wait what? How do you know?" Aziraphale asked him eagerly.

"After heaven failed to incinerate me, I asked them if they had the witch-finding sergeant up there. Your former lot practically shoved him into my arms like an unwanted gift basket, saying that it was your responsibility to get this poor sod home and to make sure he that sees the light."

FLASHBACK

"_Get back ye demons! Away with you!" A crazed Sergeant Shadwell brandishing a pointy silver pin, stood defensively behind a floating miniature of the earth, while trying to ward off the hosts of heaven. _

"_How dare you address Angels of the Lord that way!?" Gabriel scolded condescending and holier-than-though tone but looking very much out of his depth. Shadwell snorted in disbelief._

"_If Southern Pansy like you is an Angel, then I'm Agnes Nutter me self!" He stabbed his pin into a lurking Sandalphon's arm, which had just been about to grab him from behind. Sandalphon let out an undignified shriek, hardly befitting of an angel with a reputation for smiting all of Sodom. _

"_Get him in the waiting room!" Archangel Michael ordered. "We'll deal with him after the apocalypse!" They managed to drag him out from behind the globe and a few feet before miracling the struggling witchfinder in a doorless and windowless waiting room, with white walls. He beat the walls his fists and kicked the pristine angel soft couch, yelling furiously. _

"_Ye not be ending the world on my watch!" _

_**Is this how you take your tea Sergeant Witch-finder Shadwell?**_

_Shadwell spun around, but all that he saw was a steaming white teacup and saucer with a little plate of his favorite biscuits sitting on a coffee table. None of that had been there before. Shadwell gulped and cautiously sat down on the couch. _

"_W-w-who are you?" Shadwell as weakly, staring up at the ceiling. That voice came from..._

_**Nine sugars and a dash of sweetened condensed milk is correct?**_

_Shadwell jumped at the sound of the disembodied voice and swallowed hard once more. Deep down he knew exactly who was addressing him and he had never been more terrified in his life. Carefully he took the tea and drank it before speaking. Trembling hands sat it down on the table, before nervously smoothing out his clothes and hair._

"_Aye," he spoke shakily. "Thank you very much for ye hospitality...oh heavenly father." _

_What words were exchanged between God and Shadwell over tea would never be known to any angel or human. Needless to say by the end of their little chat Shadwell was thoroughly convinced that heaven had indeed been taken over by overly posh southern pansies and that not all demons were completely evil nor all angels the definition of good. He would forget most of this conversation but would remember bits of it throughout the rest of his life conveniently when times called for it. A few hours later Shadwell was rudely miracled out of the waiting room and was pushed hastily into a startled Aziraphale's arms. He unusually dazed and oddly quiet. Being exposed to the glory of God over teatime would take it out of any human being and Shadwell was no exception._

"_Here's your last long-term assignment," Gabriel said hurriedly. "Get him out of here with you and teach this ignorant human the ways of God. You may not one of us anymore, but you still have your duty."_

"_I spoke with-" Shadwell tried to say, but Aziraphale hissed "Be quiet and let's get out of here," before nodding in agreement towards a now very jumpy Archangel Gabriel and ushered the witchfinder hastily to the exit._

_End of Flashback_

"Afterwards I got him home safe 'n sound. Suspect he's having a rather nice night under Madame Tracy's care."

Aziraphale blushed a bit, knowing fully well Madame Tracy's profession, but sighed in relief after hearing Crowley's tale. "Thank you so much Crowley for getting him home safely and letting me know. Now then, let's be off, shall we?"

Twenty minutes later, the best table in the Ritz was occupied by an angel and a demon who sat together with raised glasses of sparkling champagne in the candlelight.

"_Cheers. To the world" Crowley toasted._

"_To the World." Aziraphale repeated with a tender smile._

They clicked their champagne flutes together, the soft ring of crystal chiming in celebration as they sipped and dined while having a marvelous time. Aziraphale and Crowley enjoyed listening to the rich notes of the grand piano being played in the foyer which perfectly defined the luxurious and timeless indulgence of the Ritz which still stood in the face of a near apocalypse.

As their evening began to wind down, the warmth of a decadent meal and superb wine settling them in comfortable contentment, Aziraphale decided this would be a good time as any to bring up the uncomfortable topic that hovered on the edges of their marvelous dinner. It was like a discontented specter which would haunt and corrupt all their future interactions if left unattended and ignored for too long. Neither were looking forward to this, but it had to be done.

"We do need to talk about what happened before...Crowley." His dining companion paused in mid reach for the champagne bottle before pouring the last dregs of it into his glass with a sigh.

"Yes. I believe we do, Angel." He agreed hesitantly. Aziraphale wasted no more time. He let a frown of hurt and disapproval appear on his features at long last, softened by the warm atmosphere of Ritz around them.

"Why did you go through such extremes?" He asked firmly. "Why did you drug me and attempt to take me to Alpha Centauri against my will?"

"I told you. We've friends for 6,000 years and neither one of us didn't want to leave each other behind-"

"You were right about that with me, but why didn't you want to lose me?"

"Why did you..." here he hesitated for a second, before whispering the next words to Crowley across the table.

"Kiss me?"

Crowley nearly choked on the last remaining sip of his champagne, coughing harshly. He had been planning to ask Aziraphale about his reaction to that, but he didn't expect it to be brought up so soon. Panicking, he backtracked with his usual blustering denials.

"Heat of the moment Angel! It didn't- I mean anything. I'm sorry. Just got carried away. Y-y-you-"

"You love me," he said simply. Don't you?" Crowley gulped, but tried to relax his posture in an act of calm nonchalance. Inwardly he quailed at Aziraphale's unnerving ability, when he was truly focused on something outside of his books, to cut right at the bleeding heart of the matter, deceptions and avoidance be damned.

"Demons don't love," he murmured weakly. "Besides, I have no notion of what you are talking about. Absolutely none at all."

"My dear boy we both know that is simply not true. Love is a four-letter word like nice and good." Crowley groaned inwardly at Aziraphale's callback to his venomous denials he hissed at him when he had angrily pinned him against the wall at the nun's hospital. "You are not like any other demon I have known," he continued calmly, taking a sip from his glass.

Crowley had the look of a cornered animal, (in this case an unsettled serpent) gold eyes flicking frantically towards the exit and desperately avoiding Aziraphale's terrible calm and piercing gaze that went straight through his dark sunglasses and bore uncomfortably into his soul. Crowley suddenly realized he didn't feel ready to address it. Any of it. At all.

"Look I'm s-sorry Angel, but I just remembered I need to get home to take care of my plants," Crowley stammered. He pushed back his chair, feeling his stomach turning at his own actions. He was running away again and he couldn't stop himself. Force of habit, he guessed absently, when confronting feelings. "I'll see you in a tic tomorrow."

He tried to get up from the table, but a warm hand locked around his wrist, causing him to sink bonelessly back down into his chair, limbs weighed down by an overwhelming surge of all-encompassing holy energy. Oddly enough, it didn't burn him at all, but rather that it felt like he sank into a sinfully hot bath (not of the holy water variety) with all his muscles relaxing so much so that he had lost the will to move. He was bound in a cozy prison of his own flesh and bone, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Terribly sorry to do this to you Crowley, but you didn't allow me to retreat," Aziraphale spoke with an edge to his otherwise gentle tone. "I won't run away this time and I won't allow you to either. Not anymore."

"Touché Angel," he croaked out. At least he could speak. The serpent within him, longed to curl up and bask in the waves of soothing warmth coursing throughout his body, very similar to a sun-heated stone. His mind however hummed with pulses of anxiety-induced adrenaline triggered by the inability to move his body.

"You are not ordinary." He reached over and cupped his cheek. Crowley wanted to lean into his soft palm, but he couldn't. The touch actually grounded him, his heart slowing at a much more manageable rate.

"You are different and unique. And your actions are far more telling than your words. In my eyes," he paused to clear his throat and stroked the now blushing demon's face. "That makes you rather extraordinary."

Crowley blinked back a burning sensation from the back of his eyes that he hadn't felt in at least a millennium. He felt uncomfortably vulnerable and utterly exposed before Aziraphale, but he also felt a strange sense of safety and relief. Remorse however soon followed along with a devastating sense of understanding.

_So, this is how he felt. Trapped. He couldn't move. Oh fuck. I did this to him. I bloody stopped him from speaking and I nearly forced him to abandon the world with me._

_But if he'd only told me the truth..._

"Please don't leave," Aziraphale said quietly. "I want to work things out with you. I too have things to answer for in this matter and you are within your rights to speak up about it." It is not a demand, but a request. Crowley nodded slowly and Aziraphale carefully released him. Movement returned to his muscles, but he felt oddly bereft of his touch.

"Angel...I," He stopped, collecting his thoughts and nerves for a moment, before trying again. Aziraphale waited patiently.

"I was scared. Of losing the earth and humanity. Of heaven and hell and their plans to kill us. But most of all," he swallowed hard but forced himself to keep going. "Losing you."

"Crowley..."

"I'd never forget you. I know what I said, but I d-d-didn't mean it. Absolute bollocks that was." He took off his shades and looked at Aziraphale, his golden eyes radiating utter sincerity and painful remorse.

"I'm sorry Aziraphale. Putting you through this. Drugging you, trying to drag you off and not giving you a choice."

_For trying to run away from your answer. _

"I'm sorry too," Aziraphale said remorsefully. "I should have trusted my instincts and what I saw when heaven started gearing up for the war to end everything."

"Why?" Crowley hissed softly, still hurting from Aziraphale's actions. "Why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you trust me?!" Aziraphale stared down at the tablecloth, his features wracked with misery and shame.

"Aziraphale," Crowley urged, wanting him to share his reasons without holding back anymore. No more unspoken feelings. Not ever between themselves again. There's been nearly 6000 years of that thank you very much and Crowley would not stand for it.

"I was frightened as well, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed with a deep and ancient sadness. "I was a damned stubborn fool and_ a pathetic excuse of an Angel _who was too much of a coward to work with the one being who actually cared about this terrible and marvelous world. I said we were friends, but I lied to you and tried to drive you away. I-"

"Stop right there, Angel," Crowley interrupted. He held up a hand to silence Aziraphale.

"It's true that you can be stubborn ass, and sometimes a holier-than-thou stick in the mud. I knew that you still cared about me as a friend, despite your awful attempts to convince me otherwise." Aziraphale looked ready to protest, but Crowley plowed on. "But, you held on to your faith in heaven up to nearly the end of the world. Despite being hurt by your own kind and me complain' about God all the time, you stuck by her and were able to get our respective sides to back down from their war-footing by simply reminding them that HER plan was ineffable. On top of that you wanted to save humanity, just like Jesus did a long time ago. If your actions aren't of a true angel then I don't know what is," he finished. Aziraphale's jaw dropped as he stared at the now self-consciously squirming demon, who was breathing rather hard after his rant. Crowley wasn't use to saying so many (here he shuddered) _nice _words to anybody, but it didn't smart as much when he said them to Aziraphale.

"Oh Crowley. Thank you so much my dear boy," he breathed with a beaming smile, moved beyond all belief.

"S' just telling it how it is Angel," Crowley mumbled, embarrassed, but pleased that his words got through to him. Aziraphale's expression shifted to a grave look as he broached the final issue at hand. His eyes were still soft and happy though despite his words.

"If we are on our own side, we must start by trusting each other and not resorting to extreme actions like this," Aziraphale said seriously.

"Unless..." Crowley trailed off, still nervous. He still kept his gaze on him and didn't look away.

"Unless what my dear?" Aziraphale asked gently.

"Unless one of us is on the verge of discoperation or disappearing forever," Crowley said slowly. "If-if a time ever comes where one of us must act on the best interests of the other without asking due to special case scenarios." Aziraphale smiled encouragingly at that and the demon let out an inner sigh of relief. Honestly, he thought that he would have had to argue and defend his position on this, but Aziraphale understood his intent.

_ He trusts me despite everything I did to him. I haven't lost his forgiveness…and he still has mine, _Crowley thought dazedly.

"An excellent point Crowley. We will certainly go into more detail in what those said extenuating circumstances are, but at least I know that I can count on you to watch my back as I watch yours. Even if you tried to abduct me to keep doing that," Aziraphale said with a ghost of an amused smile playing on his lips. Crowley trustingly held out his hand and Aziraphale breathed sharply at the significance of his gesture. Trapping him only moments ago and Crowley was still willing to reach out to him.

_He is far more forgiving than me or any of the angels of heaven. Truly extraordinary._

"And how's that for our New Arrangement?"

The Angel took his hand and shook it firmly in acceptance and relief, breaking the last of their chains forged from years of fear, mistrust, and repressed feelings. However, Aziraphale did not let go. Instead he gently clasped his other hand around Crowley's one and drew it close to his breast. Crowley breath caught his throat as he listened closely to Aziraphale's next words. Words he had been waiting to hear for over a Millennia. A tentative joy suffused him like a wavering sunrise which warmed an earth that had been frozen in winter's grasp for far too long.

"I love _you, _Crowley," Aziraphale spoke, his voice ringing with truth as pure as their crystal champagne flutes. "Always have… for a ridiculously long time. I only realized it in the 1940's, during the second World War. Would it be awfully selfish of me to say it was in the moment where you saved me and my prophecy books from the Nazis?"

Crowley chuckled softly in disbelief at that, before interlacing their fingers together and gently raising the angel's hand. Without taking his eyes off him, he pressed his lips on the back of it.

"_Just enough of a bastard_," he breathed against his fingers, "to be worth loving."

At the compliment, a rosy hue of bashful pleasure spread across Aziraphale's pale cheeks, causing the light in his gaze to glow even brighter. The flickering lights of the candles captured the bronze fiery tints in the demon's scarlet locks, while the angel's white curls gleamed as a golden halo. Both privately thought that neither of them had beheld anything in the world more beautiful than each other at this very moment.

"_Deep down, you really are a just a little bit good person_ Crowley," Aziraphale whispered back, his smile comforting and sweet as the hot cocoa he was so fond of. Crowley almost hissed in protest out of habit, but didn't deny it at this point, still too deliriously happy at the this turn of events. The world didn't end, they thwarted their own executions, and he now knew that Aziraphale loved him in return. He rang his spoon against his glass and a waiter appeared before them.

"More champagne sir?" Their waiter asked with posh and perfect politeness. It was the Ritz after all and these two were the staff's favorite regulars.

"Give us the best you've got," Crowley demanded giddily. His hand was still gripping Aziraphale's.

"Yes please," Aziraphale cheerfully agreed. "This occasion indeed is worth your finest wine."

The waiter glanced at their clasped hands and smiled knowingly. "Very good sirs."

An hour later, they walked out of the Ritz linked arm to arm, night already falling over their warmly lit city. A gray drizzle of rain permeated London in a thick, yet oddly comforting fog. It was wet and chilling, but it promised a cozy evening to all who were heading home. Aziraphale stopped on the curb with Crowley and was about to unfurl his wings to shield him from the rain like he did at the beginning where they first met, but Crowley had other plans. A soft, silky black cocoon of feathers carefully wrapped around them both, shielding them from the chilling dampness and hiding them the eyes of anyone else who was walking about that night. Lips met quietly in the warm, shadowed embrace, chasing away the rest of the cold from the rain on the outside and the lingering doubts within. It was timeless and almost without end, but eventually they slowly pulled away. Aziraphale and Crowley remained wrapped together in Crowley's wings, neither willing to let go.

"Let's go home," Aziraphale spoke intimately into his ear. A slight tremor passed through his now lover's slender frame at his words.

"Together?" Crowley asked just as quietly as he tenderly held his angel, arms twined around his waist. His golden eyes gleamed softly in the darkness. "To my flat or your bookshop?"

"Wherever on the earth, so long as it keeps turning with you beside me." Crowley's grip tightened slightly and Aziraphale let his head fall against his shoulder. He felt Crowley's answer reverberate through his body in a warm rumble that mixed with the soft patter of rain.

"To the end times Angel…and beyond."

**So that's the end of this "little" epilogue of my yarn. I can't help but feel that they are simply meant to be, even when I start out my fanfiction without the intent to focus on romance. I am finishing up a very late Halloween fic of Good Omens and it has become a monster of a story in terms of pages. It should be only a two shot though.**


End file.
